"I am weary," Blancheless exhaled through a languid yawn, one hand lifting her skirts while the other braced against the stone wall as she ascended the staircase. "Mistress Hubbard somehow neglected her routine report," she grumbled with evident displeasure. "That addlebrained woman has robbed me of precious slumber."

  Before Princess Rebecca's attendants assumed their duties, Blancheless frequently visited this wing to assist Mistress Hubbard in tending to the princess. She remained acutely aware of the damaged step on the staircase. (Hmm?) She scrutinized the compromised stone, noting its surface had acquired a peculiar smoothness. (Has someone else fallen here recently? Surely not Mistress Hubbard again?) She suppressed a mischievous smile. (Another tumble would certainly spell the old lady's demise.)

  Only upon reaching the terrace did her senses register subtle discrepancies. Several flower pots had vanished, and the ground bore traces of sand and debris that would typically escape casual observation. (Traces of a scuffle?)

  Maintaining vigilant alertness, Blancheless pressed her ear against the door's surface. (Utter silence within.) Having brought no weaponry and wishing to avoid precipitous action, she affected nonchalance and rapped upon the door.

  "Coming."

  The voice belonged unmistakably to Beth Keton.

  King Moore Byron Lawrence of Dud propped his temple against his fist, his features arranged in a sardonic grin. "Has your little conclave of sorcerers reached its felicitous conclusion?" he inquired, observing Royce Paul Sain as the latter entered the chamber. "That proved remarkably expeditious. I had anticipated you succumbing to the enchantments of one—or perhaps several—of those sorceresses, retiring to more intimate quarters with the lady or ladies in question, leaving this aging figure to languish in solitude."

  "Rest assured, Moore, our exclusive fellowship remains sacrosanct," King Royce promptly settled beside him, dismissing the attendants with an imperious gesture. "Everyone out," he commanded with unequivocal authority. "No admittance to any visitor unless explicitly summoned."

  "What precisely did you discuss with that assemblage of arcane practitioners?" Moore inquired, savoring with evident appreciation the green tea harvested from Connorey, a modest settlement within Brigar. "I merely articulated the fundamental strategy. Implementation details appropriately fall within the purview of those versed in magical arts." Royce cast a significant glance toward Moore before confiscating the teacup from his grasp. "I shall dispatch two cartloads of tea leaves forthwith. At present, more pressing matters demand our attention."

  "Your intellectual faculties should prove sufficient for independent decision-making," Moore Byron Lawrence remarked, his tone consciously devoid of sycophantic undertones. "In candor, your initial disclosure regarding potential alliance with Godma inspired genuine astonishment."

  "Not an alliance, Moore," Royce corrected, shaking his head with deliberate emphasis. "It constitutes a strategic maneuver—a mechanism for self-preservation. Consider the stark reality: direct confrontation against Godma's formidable force of nearly four hundred thousand troops represents nothing short of self-immolation. By contrast, sacrificing a single entity—Cynthia—to secure Brigar's continued sovereignty presents a manifestly pragmatic alternative."

  "Yet you've elected to sacrifice one of the North's preeminent military powers. Through alliance with Cynthia, we might conceivably achieve parity with Godman forces on conventional battlefields. Moreover, regarding logistical considerations—specifically provisions—Northern advantage remains incontestable. Cynthia maintains abundant agricultural reserves, whereas Southern forces rely on extended supply chains traversing considerable distances. In a protracted campaign emphasizing attrition, probability heavily favors Northern triumph."

  "A moment's further reflection will illuminate the superior opportunism and security inherent in my strategy," King Royce traced deliberate patterns across the table's surface with his fingertip. "First, your supposition regarding Northern advantage in attritional or extended conflict relies upon two critical factors: manpower and provisions. Regarding manpower, even full mobilization of all Northern nations' adult male populations yields approximately three hundred fifty thousand combatants. In this metric, our disadvantage stands incontrovertible. Concerning provisions, I concede your assessment's validity."

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  Moore Byron Lawrence acknowledged this with a measured nod.

  "Second, even supplementing our forces through external recruitment—from the Seven Seas Kingdoms, Brin Isle, Tolin Isle, and Dwarven mercenaries—potentially aggregating four hundred thousand troops, qualitative disparity remains insurmountable. Godma constituted a formidable military power even before initiating Southern conquests. It represents humankind's inaugural nation-state on the Southern continent."

  "Genealogically, they are Latreans."

  "Precisely—Latreans," Royce affirmed with emphatic agreement. "Fundamentally, they represent Northern extraction—refugees following the Era of Conflicts, recipients of divine illumination. They transported substantial elements of Ptolemaick Dynasty's cultural and artistic heritage southward, but critically, they preserved nearly identical military organizational structures and tactical doctrines. The Ptolemaick military epitomized martial excellence. Historical accounts undoubtedly familiar to you describe how a phalanx comprising merely one hundred Ptolemaick Fearless could precipitate retreat among a thousand adversaries and instill trepidation in twice that number. Godma has inherited this martial tradition and methodological paradigm. Contemporary Godman elite units rival—if not surpass—the legendary Ptolemaick forces. The Ptolemaick Dynasty's ultimate dissolution stemmed predominantly from alliance fragmentation; militarily, it never experienced substantive weakness."

  "Yet those Latrean emigrants exhibited no pronounced martial proclivities. One might reasonably assert they sought Southern refuge explicitly to escape perpetual warfare..."

  "What malign influence corrupted their pacific inclinations remains inscrutable," King Royce observed, his nasal expression conveying palpable distaste. "Perhaps they received novel revelations from the Triad of Destiny. Irrespective of causation, fifteen years past they initiated aggressive campaigns against neighboring sovereignties, and now their martial aspirations encompass our territories. Comprehend why I emphasize their military's qualitative superiority? Beyond the previously mentioned Ptolemaick military systems and training protocols, the Godmans have maintained continuous warfare, while Northern realms have languished in protracted peace. The past century has witnessed no conflicts of historical significance. This represents our most profound detriment. We..."

  "We not only forfeited the Ptolemaick Dynasty's military training methodologies and tactical doctrines following the Era of Conflicts, but we've additionally failed to maintain our martial forces in perpetual combat readiness," Moore continued this line of reasoning. "In authentic large-scale conflict, battle-hardened veterans or continuously engaged combatants demonstrate qualitative superiority over inexperienced recruits by several orders of magnitude, particularly regarding experiential knowledge and psychological resilience. Godma's persistent aggression against neighboring minor sovereignties serves not merely to secure strategic and human resources but critically to preserve their forces' acclimatization to warfare conditions. Our experiential military deficit spans fifteen years."

  "Exactly my assessment," Royce Paul Sain exclaimed, striking his thigh with animated conviction. "This precisely elucidates my aversion to direct confrontation. Defeat would prove inevitable, Moore. I do not exaggerate enemy capabilities—Godma's martial prowess is simply overwhelming, particularly their Grey Knights and infantry phalanxes. I refuse to countenance defeat... no, defeat remains categorically unacceptable. Hence my diplomatic overture to Godman leadership: during their Cynthian campaign, I guaranteed non-intervention from remaining Northern nations. The reciprocal consideration ensures Brigar's exemption from aggression following their Northern penetration."

  "Essentially, exchanging one nation for another," Moore observed with evident cynicism. "Ultimately facilitating hemispheric division. Yet you genuinely believe Godman leadership will honor contractual obligations?"

  "I'm not Porchet," Royce countered with sardonic laughter. "I harbor no delusions regarding Godman trustworthiness, nor do I imagine they extend complete credence to my representations. My emissaries conveyed subtle sincerity while strategic positioning suggested the Godman Emperor represented my final recourse. Mutual trust remains immaterial in this negotiation precisely because it constitutes mutually beneficial arrangement—neither unequal nor zero-sum in nature. This agreement disproportionately benefits Godman interests, as they prefer avoiding diversification of military focus during Cynthian operations. Regarding my obligations, they maintain perpetual capacity to abrogate our arrangement, openly terminate diplomatic relations, and incorporate Brigar into their expanding empire. My modest force of sixty to seventy thousand cannot meaningfully impede their ambitions. This represents their strategic calculus. Consequently, they readily accepted my proposed terms and formalized our agreement without hesitation."